The Well of Lost Plots (Thursday Next 3)

Mr Price was a stonemason but he wasn't doing anything; in fact, I don't think he had ever done anything – his tools were brightly polished, unmarked, and lying in a neat row next to where he was sitting, reading a copy of Movable Type.

'Good afternoon, Miss Havisham,' he said, politely raising his hat.

Havisham indicated the surroundings. 'The Great Panjandrum is meant to be the architect of all this and control everything we do. I'm a little sceptical myself; no one controls my movements.'

'They wouldn't dare,' I whispered.

'What did you say?'

'I said: they couldn't care. Not a great deal, given the violence in books.'

She looked at me and raised an eyebrow.

'Perhaps. Come along and see the Council at work.'

She steered me down the corridor to a door that opened into a viewing gallery above a vast council chamber with desks arranged in concentric circles.

'The main genres are seated at the front,' whispered Miss Havisham. 'The sub-genres are seated behind and make up a voting group that can be carried forward to the elected head of each genre, although they do have a veto. Behind the sub-genres are elected representatives from the Congress of Derivatives who bring information forward to the Sub-genres Inspectorate – and behind them are the subcommittees who decide on day-to-day issues such as the Book Inspectorate, new words, letter supply and licensing the reworkings of old ideas. The Book Inspectorate also license plot devices, Jurisfiction agents and the supply and training schedules for Generics.'

'Who's that talking now?' I asked.

'The Thriller delegate. She's arguing against Detective having a genre all of its own – at present Detective is under Crime, but if they break away the genres at Thriller will want to split themselves three ways into Adventure, Spy and Thriller.'

'Is it always this boring?' I asked, watching the Thriller delegate drone on.

'Always,' replied Havisham. 'We try to avoid any entanglements and let Text Grand Central take all the flak. Come on, you must sign the pledge.'

We left the viewing gallery and padded down the corridor to a door that led into the smallest room I had ever seen. It seemed to be mostly filing cabinet and desk. An equally small man was eating biscuits – and most of them were falling down his front.

'Thursday Next to take the pledge,' announced Miss Havisham. 'I have the documents all signed and sealed by the Bellman.'

'Work, work, work,' said the small man, taking a swig of tea and looking up at me with small yet oddly intense eyes. 'I rarely get any peace – you're the second pledge this year.'

He sighed and wiped his mouth on his tie.

'Who seconds the application?'

'Commander Bradshaw.'

'And who vouches for Miss Next?'

'I do.'

'Good. Repeat the oath of the BookWorld.' Primed by Miss Havisham, I repeated:

'I swear by the Great Panjandrum that I shall uphold the rules of Jurisfiction, protect the BookWorld and defend every fictioneer, no matter how poorly written, against oppression. I shall not shirk from my duty, nor use my knowledge or position for personal gain. Secrets entrusted to me by the Council of Genres or Text Grand Central must remain secret within the service, and I will do all I can to maintain the power of storytelling within the minds and hearts of the readers.'

'That'll do,' said the small man, taking another bite of his biscuit. 'Sign here, here and – er – here. And you have to witness it, Miss Havisham.'

I signed where he indicated in the large ledger, noting as I did so that the last Jurisfiction agent to have signed was Beatrice. He snapped the book shut after Miss Havisham had witnessed my signature.

'Good. Here's your badge.'

He handed over a shiny Jurisfiction badge with my name and number engraved below the colourful logo. It could get me into any book I wanted without question – even Poe if I so chose, although it wasn't recommended.

'Now if you'll excuse me,' said the bureaucrat, looking at his watch, 'I'm very busy. These forms have to be processed in under a month.'

We returned to the elevator and Miss Havisham pressed the twenty-sixth sub-basement button. We were going back into the Well.